


metanoia

by leusignac (Golbez)



Series: every knight a brother [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Guilt, Knights Twelve, M/M, Old Age, Old Friends, Past Relationship(s), Wordcount: 100-1.000, the prince is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golbez/pseuds/leusignac
Summary: Ser Sylvetrel pays a visit to Ser Flavien long after Ishgard has gone to sleep for the night.





	metanoia

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically 1000 years ago, but also it's future fic as far as the Knights Twelve echo flashback in-game is concerned...?

The manor is quiet as Sylvetrel passes through the drawing room to reach the study. He has not met anyone since the guard let him in, but he has his suspicions that Flavien would be here. At the entrance to the study, he pauses and squints toward the balcony door standing just ajar directly across him, watching as the curtains flit in the Coerthan night breeze.

A shadowed figure beyond the door moves ever so slightly, framed by tonight’s bright light from both Menphina and Dalamud. The carpeted floor softens his steps as he approaches.

"Moulignauge wrote."

Sylvetrel pauses, one foot over the threshold, his gaze firmly on Flavien, reclining in a chair and clearly enjoying the moonlight and cool air. It strikes him how much the long years have marked Flavien physically, from the halo of silvery, once-onyx hair to the defined lines on his face and by his eyes in particular. But the years have left their mark on him, too, so Sylvetrel leans against the doorframe, willing away a growing ache in his leg. 

“Our brother lives, then?” asks Sylvetrel, recalling the boisterous knight that had fought at his side. 

“Hm, aye…he wrote to say he's sold his bar. Chasing his dreams of a distillery now.” Flavien smiles, eyes gleaming with a hint of a joke, and finally looks up to meet his gaze. “Can you imagine that, now? Our brother’s name attached to every bottle of spirits in the city? Moulignauge de Leusignac's Spirits—not a bad legacy, do you think?”

“It is not unlike our names on every Ishgardian’s lip.”

“No, no, 'tis nothing like it.” Flavien chuckles, "Our brother does not wish to be remembered. Most unlike this misshapen legacy we've begun, no?"

Sylvetrel can almost hear the accusation against him. Flavien had never outright defied the coverup, but there were lines he had never been willing to cross when it came to ruling Ishgard. The lies Sylvetrel had sown, starting with those within Dzemael manor itself, were a misshapen legacy indeed.

"You know we had little recourse," he says.

"It is too late to debate what we've done to Ishgard," answers Flavien, shaking his head. "What comes next...our sons and their grandsons will be there to deal with it. Forever."

"Flavien, I did not come for this."

"No, I suppose you didn't." Flavien looks to him, square in the eyes, weariness lining every ilm of his features. "You came about Lord Haldrath, didn't you?"

The ache in Sylvetrel's leg flares, and he sucks in a breath, gripping the doorframe as he endures the reason he has not picked up a lance in years, and why he has not jumped for even longer. His leg aches, but both his mind and body remember what soaring through the air after the dragons had been like, and the training with Lord Haldrath...

"I have no one to turn to," he chokes out, "No one who understands."

The chair creaks as Flavien rises and shuffles over to him. The years have been unkind to his physique, but Sylvetrel can still feel the strength in his hands when Flavien reaches for his. They lace their fingers together, as they once often did, before their duties to their houses took away all the time they had to sit in the sun with only each other, before Drancoin became the center of Flavien's attention instead.

He might have gone to Geunriol. He might have gone to Drancoin. They, too, would understand how he felt about the news of Lord Haldrath, if they did not slam their doors in his face first, but Flavien—

"He has atoned, he is surely forgiven now." Flavien's voice is low, as he touches his forehead to Sylvetrel's.

He forgets the ache, focusing only on Flavien. His face, his eyes, his hold, the familiar tenderness that he had once pushed away in anger, when he'd foolishly assumed too much of his brothers.

"I pray it is as you say..." He runs his thumb over Flavien's, sighing. Though it has been so long, Sylvetrel still feels the power of the dragon's eye lingering within himself, and he imagines it is reacting when he senses it in Flavien as well. Haldrath too, when Sylvetrel was standing over his still body laying upon a stone slab, had emanated that power, still present after death. He'd hidden the eye away for now. "He deserves the finest of burials. Only the grandest from every corner of Coerthas. Mayhap...someone will be willing to pick those flowers from Dravania he so liked."

"Oh, that would be lovely," replies Flavien. They both know it will be impossible. They will bury Haldrath without the Dravanian flowers and with a dragon's eye instead, and it will be a quiet ceremony for a fallen prince and Azure Dragoon. Haldrath had never been one for extravagance.

They stand in silence for a long while, until Sylvetrel's leg begins to ache again, and Flavien quietly lets go of his hand.

"It is late," murmurs Flavien, "Dzemael Manor is quite the walk at this hour, perhaps my brother would care to take a room here tonight."

The moons are high in the Coerthan sky tonight, and there are lamps along the familiar streets to light his way, but Sylvetrel offers Flavien a slight smile. "If you would have me."

They retire together to Flavien's room, sparsely decorated for a Count's, and Sylvetrel lies awake through the rest of the night with an arm around Flavien, whose soft snores do little to disrupt the sound of Ratatoskr's voice in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ser Moulignauge" is named as a possible member of the Knights Twelve from the lore entry for Tyrfing in the lorebook.
> 
> "Ser Moulignauge" being the Brawny/Forgotten Knight is my personal headcanon. As is "Ser Moulignauge de Leusignac."


End file.
